


A Language Reserved for Lovers

by Sasskarian



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Ficlet, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Love, Mandalorian, Mando'a, Non-Graphic Smut, Oral Sex, Other, POV Second Person, Romance, Short One Shot, Smut, Soulmates, god the way these two love each other, hi yes hello i just got back into SWTOR and torian has stolen my heart again, soul-shaking love, their love could raze the galaxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 02:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15962900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasskarian/pseuds/Sasskarian
Summary: His faith and loyalty came first, but the love.Oh,the love is what will put your very soul to the torch.





	A Language Reserved for Lovers

**Fandom:**  SWTOR  
**Character:**  Torian Cadera  
**Pair:**  Torian/Bounty Hunter (gender neutral)  
**Rating:**  18+   
**TW:**  oral, swallowing, mild pinning

***

“I’m in love with you.”

“You just noticing? I could have told you that.”

***  
***

The first time you touch him, his skin flushes red; the first time he touches you back, he trembles. Interesting, since if there is a word to describe him, it is  _steadfast._  But there is more beneath the easy surface, beneath the deadly grace and unflagging stamina. He is  _loyal_ , and good, and so fascinating under the burden of his name. But nineteen is a young age, even if you're only a little older, and he seemed so young at first, unsure and innocent— then he gave you that crooked little grin, and stole your heart with it.

Boy, you called him. Kid. You know better now, you  _see_  him, truly. And the slow press of his mouth against yours is anything but childlike. True, his fingers still sometimes stutter on the clasp of your breastplate even a year on, but he’s a brave one, determined. We were all inexperienced once and just because you’ve been around the galaxy once or twice doesn't give you much of a head start. Not with someone so eager and sweet, always so fucking willing to please. Someone all  _yours._

He murmurs in your ear, words that should sound harsh in that still-new tongue scalding your mouth, molding you from  _aruetii_  to  _mandalorian_. But the love in his voice softens them, steeps them in warmth and adoration. Still the language of a hunter, of those brave souls willing to be reforged, but with a gentle side, a language reserved for lovers. Words like  _cyare_  and  _riduur_ , words that mean  _I love you_  and  _forever_  and  _home_.

You gasp when he hauls you against him, bare chest to cold beskar, and he laughs. He sounds different here in the dark of your cabin, mild voice smudged to campfire smoke and ancient secrets. The single lamp spills streams of gold through his hair as he bends to drag his teeth across the now-exposed softness of your neck. With a little twisting, the clips of his own chestplate give under your fingers and his mouth lifts from your throat long enough to bury a kiss like hidden treasure along the curve of your jaw.

_Mine,_  you think, hands seeking, roaming over delightful muscle and battle-scarred arms. There are miles of delicious, golden skin to find, to touch. To taste. He shudders when your tongue traces the column of his neck, pulling you closer with a torn  _yes_  that sends wildfire coursing straight through your nerves. Now he trembles for a different reason, love and lust and need lending his hands haste as they strip the armor from your legs and lets the pieces rest where they fall.

The kiss never really breaks even as he presses you back, laughing joy against your mouth when your knees hit the bed off-balance and startling. When you fall into the sheets, he follows, a warm weight anchoring you. Over his shoulders, the stars spin, dancing just for the two of you, and when his fingers lace with yours, your heart all but breaks open with the grandeur of it all.

He sears kisses down your core, small, glowing brands that transform you into a constellation to match those above. And when he whispers a question against your thigh, you yield before him, baring more than your body. He is taking you apart piece by piece, your warrior, conquering you with the same fierce efficiency as a battlefield siege. Your hips fit his hands like a puzzle piece, held fast against your bunk for his pleasure. And  _oh,_  Torian on his knees is a beautiful sight, all wet lips and slick chin, and the way those blue eyes catch yours down the length of your body— if the old gods of Mandalore do exist, you think, fingers tangling in his hair, surely they must favor your husband.

_Husband._  Not a word that ever meant much to you on contract, on the hunt. Now it sparkles, iridescent in the dark places you’ve lived, and captures memories too rich for mere words: the way he kneels, a supplicant at the altar speaking prayers of devotion with tongue and teeth. The way he murmurs between your knees as he takes you higher,  _mando’a_  a new-familiar rasp breathed ‘cross your skin. And when you shatter under those warrior’s hands and gentle mouth, when your back arches and you can make no sound because trying to breathe through a star-shaking climax is more important, that winds through the word as well.

It’s come to mean so much;  _he_  means so much. His faith and loyalty came first, but the love.  _Oh_ , the love is what will put your very soul to the torch. It is in the way he curls around you, drinking you in with every sense. Hands always roaming, mouth hungry for whatever taste of you he can get, that you can give. In whispered benedictions in a dying tongue, and murmurs of  _don’t leave yet_  and  _stay alive, my love._  ( _K’oyacyi,_  he says, and it has become your favorite word, spoken like a prayer before the hunt: stay alive.  _K’oyacyi, cyare._ ) It is a kiss so soft, it blows you apart inside, a wordless vow that says  _I never expected to find you, but I’ll burn this galaxy to ashes for you._

A new memory to cherish is the way he follows your unspoken order, rolling until you hover above him. Not unlike one of those dead and forgotten gods, you think. His face hides nothing from you, trust and raw emotion crackling in the space between. Hands stroke your parted thighs, the small of your back, before you press them to the bed in silent command— and shiver when he obeys. Here, in the dark, he is yours. He took you apart and a  _mando’ad_  repays a debt in full, you warn him, smile sliding to smirk as he writhes under you.

Touching him is different this time. Sometimes it is fevered moans, bites and scratches and steel walls against your back. Sometimes it is long, slow kisses and time passing sleepily, dreaming through the stars like myths. Tonight, the predator the galaxy knows you as is awake, wants to play. He is your prey, your husband, and though your hands are gentle skimming across the flat planes of him, that hunter’s patience settles in your chest like an old friend. It spreads through you cool and calm, a familiar anchor against circumstance, against change. It hums in thoughtful appreciation at the salt of his skin on your lips, rumbles in pleasure when he gasps your name like an oath, bright and shining and  _oh, fuck, do that again._   

And so you do.

Your mouth, your hands, the brush of your hair on his thighs, all combine to undo him, to  _wreck_  him, and you bring him to the edge only to stop. He  _whines_  when you crawl over too-sensitive skin, shakes under your mouth as you kiss him, marking him where anyone can see, and when his hands go for your hair to hold you to him, you say  _not yet_  with a smile _._

_Mine_  falls from his mouth, a claim, a plea, a truth older than the stars painting him with their faint light. And to this you agree: you  _are_  his, bound forever. Four short, sweet lines in his tongue, a clasping of hands, and he is yours to keep, to have and hold, and oh, the way you love him is more fierce than anything you’ve ever known— it leaves you on your knees trying to remember how to breathe. You love him,  _gods_  above how you love him, now, always, and if there is a life after this, you’ll love him still.

_Please_ , he whispers, hands cupping your face, kisses falling reckless and feverish on your brow. Obliging him is easy enough; parting from his lips and hands is a more difficult task. But the way he feels between your palms, on your tongue, the howl barely contained by willpower and a hand over his mouth, all more than makes up for want of a kiss. A thousand flowery metaphors run through your mind, at odds with the predator purring with pleasure, but in the end, the only word that he needs to describe him is  _yours._

(Or perhaps  _husband_ , but that is still newer than  _mine._ )

When he comes, he jerks in your loose hand with a sound sweeter than any Coruscanti choir, a noise he repeats, softer, as he watches you lick him off your fingers one at a time with a grin. And when he pulls you down beside him, content to lay where his still-hammering heart thunders under your ear, when the predator rests at last and the lovers in you both are sated, he drifts into sleep with a murmured  _my love_ — and you give chase, cradled in his arms like a dream neither of you knew enough of to want

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Reading @kauriart‘s fantastic second-person, gender neutral NSFW ficlets made me want to try one myself as a writing exercise. So… have some gender-neutral, second-person Mandalorian smut, I guess? And thanks to my test readers: @aban-asaara @shetanshadowwolf @thebisexualmandalorian and @hesaidsidhesaid


End file.
